Tag Archives: Writing101

I’m not sure about the rest of humanity, but I know that I have the tendency to live day to day in complete autonomy, caring only about me and being completely indifferent towards the issues that anyone else might have. I think I’m just so swept away by my own troubles that I forget to look up and check if someone else might be in need. I accidentally stumbled upon that realisation when a letter between the pages of a book I had taken out from the library.

“Dear Lucy,

I’ve tried tirelessly to apologise to you. I hope that one day you could forgive me, and let me meet my son.

David.”

It’s dated 1969. It has no creases so it seems it was never posted. David might not have met his son.

Every Friday night, and for as many nights as we can in the week, my friends and I make it a point to gather at somebody’s house and have a what we simply call a shindig. A shindig requires few things, a venue, beverages, food, and most importantly, music. It is the glue that holds this group of young, fast-moving and ambitious group of friends together. Because as much as we need the pace to forward our careers, we must always keep ourselves grounded and remember that one day, when we’re old and retired, there were moments where we sat back and absorbed all the blessings in our lives. Over time, our shindigs have become more organised. There are certain things that each of us need to do in order to prepare for them, a set of unspoken rules, so to speak. We each bring our own six-pack or bottle to contribute to the box of vice for the night, and we rely on Zanele, our resident chef, to take care of the food. The event usually takes place at my flat, and because Zanele and I have been friends since high school, she has no qualms about raiding my kitchen. They all say that we have to gather at my place because it’s more central, but I know that its because we all silently agree that I have the best taste in music.

When choosing a song, the trick is to find a song that can make you feel both extremely high and low at the same time. A song that jolts excitement in such copious amounts that you feel you need to settle down almost instantly. As a group of twenty-something year-olds, we feel mostly comfortable in the manacles with which we’ve shackled ourselves to this life. As music played a huge role in forging these manacles, we prefer to listen to the music that ignites flames deep in our memories, songs that haven’t been played in a long time. No offense to any artists of the present, we fully support them in their creativity. But if a song is good enough to make me feel like I’m hearing it for the first time every time I hear it, it deserves to be played into eternity.

And there we were on a blissful Friday evening having a much needed shindig. The air was warm and the smell of Zanele’s spices and Vuyo’s incense danced together to form warm feelings of soul food and zen meditation. That night, it was just the three of us, which was fine, more food and drinks for us. The night was still young though we submerged ourselves deep in nostalgia with a song that pre-dates our existence, “Do I Move You?” by Nina Simone. This song always brings forth the image of what I think the American South was like in the 60s. How black people would gather away from the rampant racism for a wild night. The blues guitar and harmonica sets the tone for Simone’s seductive voice to dig deep inside the id and conjure up the primal instinct to lose all inhibitions and just move. Vuyo recounted the first time he ever heard the song, “I remember it like it was yesterday. I was so young, eight years old, I should have been asleep but my dad kept me awake while he was sending me back and forth. When the song came on he decided that he would impart a lesson unto me. He said, “my son, the most important thing in life is the love a good woman. So when you think you might have met the one and you want to check to make sure, ask yourself “does she move me?” If the answer is yes, you need to work towards asking her if she’d like to, perhaps, move you for the rest of your life.” From then on I knew that Nina Simone was the compass that would point me in the right direction. I’m not there yet, but I’m still young, who knows?” I sat back and observed as this song caused an indelible smile on my friend’s face, a smile that can only be caused by the memories of childhood.

As one song faded into the next we all laughed as we have the same familiar feeling with the next song, Kgomo by Jonas Gwangwa, also known as the Wedding Song. Each of us remembered this song from our childhood. It would always play at large family gatherings, weddings, house-warmings, Christmas, whenever there is a reminiscent feeling in the air, it plays. The first time Zanele heard this song was at her aunt’s wedding reception. “That was the first time, in my memory, that I started meeting new family members. The ones that are only ever seen at weddings and funerals. I was seven and when the song came on, everybody formed a line behind the bride and groom and started stepping all around the dance-floor. Their hips swayed to the rhythm of the trumpet as they took two large strides forward and two short ones back. It was like it was instinctive, everyone knew what to do, it all fell into place. Nonku, you’d better make sure it plays at my wedding, I don’t care how old it is.” As she stood to demonstrate the dance we stood with her, because we knew exactly what she was talking about. Like she said, it was instinctive.

The next song that played was and is by far and away my favourite song of all time, Midnight by 340ml. My memory of this song wasn’t a childhood one, I had just begun high-school when it came out. The first time I heard it was when my cool uncle, Kgosi, came to pick me up from school. It was a Friday and he had promised me a trip to the movies. On our way home after the movie, we were deep in the discussion of the plot-line when the song came on, and we both fell silent. The sun was setting, splashing colours of pink, yellow, orange and gold to mix in with the cool blue sky. The road was open and it was as if it went on forever. The bass guitar tugged at my emotions like a dog on a leash wanting desperately to run wild. The drums had me enchanted, the guitar had me addicted and the vocals had me committed. I vowed to chase a moment just like that, with those feelings, those sounds, that atmosphere and when I did I would hold on to it forever. I would take it into my old age, I would show others how to do it, how to feel what I felt. If they didn’t immediately click, it would never happen and I would move on to the next one.

It has clicked with many people. Those who are like-minded and have experiences similar to mine. I called that moment, that very special moment, a shindig.

I’ve perfected it, making last as long as possible. Enchanted, addicted, committed.

From 9 am to 5 pm I become suspended in an environment that prides itself on having features that I like to think of as clinical. The area must always be clean and minimal, similar to the cars we sell. The tiles on the floor are white, or ocean-foam white, as they were named by whatever company manufactures them. The walls are white, I think the paint is called sandstorm, though it’s the exact same as the floor. Where there isn’t a brick wall, one will find towering glass barriers. Those face the street so as to display the cars on the showroom floor to the public. Our desks are arranged in a very orderly fashion, though you would think that it was chaos when you see people running around with sheets of paper in hand, asking each other questions and trying to get work done. The phones ring constantly with someone on the other line trying to get a piece of the German excellence on our floors. Potential clients walk in to a world that is entirely different from any other, to buy a product that is in a class of its own. At least that’s what the brochure says.

This is the world I occupy. The 9 to 5 I maintain to pay the bills. It is mundane and stifling and at every moment I wish I could get away. It’s not that I hate the job, I like it. I try to think of it as an art form, so as to stimulate my ever-hungry right-brain. But occasionally I wonder about the places that I would like to go to, if I were given the power. If I could travel at the lightning speed at which we claim our cars travel, where would I be? If I teleport like X-men’s Azazel or had the TARDIS, where would I want to land up? There is no grand paradise that I imagine. But there are little pieces of sunshine that I find in my own time, outside of my money-making hours.

If I could zoom through space at the speed of light, more specifically, space-time, I would take myself to the park a few blocks away from my flat, at sunset. I’d like to go to a time where the children frolic about on the jungle-gyms without a care in the world. I’d like to be in the presence of lovers basking in each other’s happiness. The park is the perfect place for this. It is so vast and the natural scenery brings out a peaceful nature of co-habitation in everyone present. I find my solace on my very favourite park bench, which is positioned across an oak tree whose leaves are at this very moment gaining hues of red, gold and brown. The sun sets just left of this tree and the warm colours give me an extra dose of life with which to carry on in the night. But by far the best thing about this park is the paradoxical quietude among all the noise. Even though the children might scream and shout and the cars might zoom past with people trying to get to the next point in their lives, I can tune out all the noise because I’m all alone. Its as if no one else is here.

If I could zoom through space-time at the speed of light, oh the places I’d go. I’d take myself all the way to Jay’s Pub on the corner of my block, on a Saturday night. This place is one that I truly call home because I am able to shine light into the corners of my soul. Corners that I can’t show to my dearest friends or even my family. This is the place where I can pour my heart out to the kindest human-being I’ve ever known, a complete stranger, the audience. I stand on a stage in front of a crowd, and though there might be a few individuals I know, when they form part of the giant creature called The Audience they are anonymous. The smell of tobacco and wood stains my senses like mud on the formal outfit of a mischievous child. The spotlight shines on me, I look into it’s eyes and everything else falls away. As I speak, the response from the voices in the audience peel away at my insecurities to reveal my inner-child. A fierce, serious, silly and shy little girl. As I speak my mind, the laughter and gasps echo on the walls of the pub and I find myself possessing the power to silence a mass of people with the shock of my words. I am all alone in this pub, I speak out loud to everyone and no one. I love them all.

I am Nonku. Selling cars by day, poet by night. I chase my true passion in the dark, work to survive in the light and in between, I find solace in my paradoxical quietude.

I write this post 4 hours later than I meant to because procrastination got the better of me. What was meant to be published just after 4pm will be published at 9.20pm. But now that I’m on the ball, I have no choice but to keep to my time for the rest of the month. The idea of this post is to carry on typing for 20 minutes, just to get the mind moving. It might be working, I can’t tell. Let me move into a different direction.

I could go on about how my day was, or write a touching descriptive piece about the night. My day wasn’t all that and I’m saving the night for another night. However, I must say I’m glad to be back. I went quiet for a while and I’m not sure why, but as I’ve said before, this blogging thing is hard. In this the month of June, I chose to refuse all the excuses that may come my way. I’m beginning to sound like one of those people in an on off relationship with fitness. I don’t like sounding like that. I’ll move into a different direction.

I have returned. I have 9 more minutes with you. I will be here for longer. There are many things I need to say to you, although, as usual, I can’t. But I won’t run, I’m committed to the Writing 101 course now. There must be a way we can spin this and make it fictitious and delightful. I see a name…

Nonku…there we go. I’ve added an extra twist to the alleged twist I will receive daily. I have to write about this character, Nonku. She will be fierce, silly, serious and shy. Your job is to force me into doing it. I’ll do it everyday, only on weekdays of course. Promise me? Liar.

4 more minutes…not bad. This is a brief introduction to the month of June, Youth month in South Africa. What a month we’ll have. Stick to your promise and I’ll stick to mine.

2 minutes…I have so much to say. When did I become a slow typist? Writing is fantastic. I’m excited. A person is born. Already with a life and a past and a future. I don’t know what it is but it’s mine to make up or figure out.

And in this last minute I bid you adieu, cliche and cheesy, I know, but who are we without cheese?